Archive for July 2016

I got excited when the yearly reminder to sign up for October’s NY Comic Con appeared in my inbox. For years, I swore I’d love to attend but life always interfered somehow: had to work and couldn’t get off, or something was up with the kid, or after all the bills got paid, the till’s empty and so were my pockets.

This year, however, was different. The stars aligned in my favor. For once.

Upon receiving the notice I needed to fill in my fan verification form, a method of preregistration, I counted the days until the site opened. As one can imagine, in years past, tickets to this event were hotter than asphalt in Florida on an August afternoon, and acquiring them often required a Ferengi’s ability to pilfer, smuggle and trade. So who can blame the folks at NYCC to try a new method of ticket selling so that anyone who wanted to attend actually could…legitimately?

Once the Fan Verification site went live, I filled in my name, my husband’s name and my son’s. It asked for email addresses. Since I was treating the family for tickets, I put my own email in all three. I’ve purchased tickets for various and sundry trade shows in the same manner, so why should this be any different?

Several days later, I received a notice that tickets were now open for sale for verified fans. After waiting in an electronic queue for well over an hour (lucky I hit the button right as it came live!), I purchased three tickets and was instructed that I’d need to go to another site to complete the sale. I got excited. Not only was my family going, I planned to surprise my son with his ticket, since the event takes place right before his birthday.

As I opened the site’s page to complete the sale, I noticed my email address went in on my designated field, but not on my husband’s or son’s. Strange, I thought, and went to read up on what I might be doing wrong. As it turned out, each person needs his or her own email address. What? Aren’t I buying the tickets? How come? From NYCC’s twitter feed, I quickly learned that many boyfriends, girlfriends, uncles, aunts and cosplay girls and boys believed as I did.

Suddenly, we were all shut out of living our dream. No 2016 NY ComicCon for us.

I called. The helpful and polite person on the other end verified what in my heart I realized was true: every ticket needs its own email address. If not, we’re very sorry, but we have to refund your money.

First, I wanted to cry.

Then scream.

Then kick myself for not following directions the way I should.

Enthusiasm and past Javitz Center purchasing experiences clouded my decision-making for this event. I hated myself for not following the directions carefully, but then again, why shouldn’t one person be able to buy a couple of tickets? It comes down to a factor more than just hoping to surprise someone with a nice treat: fraud. This convention is so rife with people elbowing out the legit crowd with overpriced scalped tickets, the powers that be decided to try another way.

Unfortunately, there were an awful lot of people like me, and all of us, including me, let NY ComicCon folks know how devastated we all were. All we wanted was a good time, fanning it up with our ilk, grabbing autographs and a pile of merch to take home and savor.

Yet, inside of me, a gut feeling told me to hang on. Just wait, it said, there’s going to be good new yet…

And there was.

Out of the blue, I received a nice, polite email from NY ComicCon. Apparently, they heard us. Chose to do the right thing. Gave us a second chance.

We had a brief window to verify the fans we wanted to purchase tickets for, only 24 hours, but that was more than enough time. I scrambled online and fan verified both my husband and kid. Twenty-four hours after that, I purchased tickets for all three of us.

My heartbreak turned out to be a ticket to heaven. Now we’re all going!

“Watch me,” said the violator, “as I slip past that thing. No one’d suspect I’d get away with anything, and yet here I am, alone, off to do what I do best.”

“Watch out,” said the partner. “No one gets by the camera. It’s going to capture you in ways you’ll never imagine.”

“How?” said the violator. “What harm can it do? It’s a piece of machinery, nothing more. It only has power if someone actually uses it. And who’ll see me if I do?”

“Someone may,” said the partner. “It might as well be on you. Nothing else to watch ‘cept you.”

“No machine has power over me. None. Let it snap and shoot away. It might as well be blind,” said the violator, and off he went to do the job he did best.

* * *

People still talk about that afternoon as if it were yesterday. Or might be tomorrow.

It started innocently enough. Pick up the girlfriend and the girl, maybe grab a bite to eat and get home before too late. Kid needed sleep and the couple needed each other. Man’s hands held the wheel with a casual grasp, the way one does heading down familiar paths.

Out of the corner of his eye, the quick dance of red and blue flashes bounced off of his rearview. They seemed to be closing in on Man’s car. Next he heard the wail and the growl of a V8 turbo. He shrugged. Wasn’t speeding. Wasn’t texting. Wasn’t doing much of anything except heading in a straight line and stopping for the occasional traffic light. Still, he pulled over just in case he was expected to. Nothing to worry about, right?

Not that day. Not that afternoon.

Nothing Man ever could say ever could matter. Asked what was the matter. Yes, sir, I’ll hand you the ID and yes, I have permission.

Then he became blind, absorbed into the ages, barely fathoming the shattering explosion, the screaming, the surrealistic senselessness of it all.

* * *

Violator begged his innocence. He swore Man’s mere presence posed a threat. That no mistake was made. All his actions were for the safety of his position and his survival of the afternoon shift. Besides, he had no business being here, did he now? Worse, he was carrying. Didn’t matter if he was allowed. How many deaths occurred with permission to use those things, eh?

He didn’t count on the camera actually working. Against him.

That woman clutched it and kept it going. She’d make sure he’d never get past. He’d never get away with it. With the world as her witness, she brandished it as her weapon, more powerful than any instrument on Earth. While the violator kept on doing the job he did best, Woman allowed her camera to do the job it did best.